


A Series of Unfortunate Ideas

by groovyphilia



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Agreeable Demons, Aladdin AU, Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, And less agreeable ones, Charles You Slut, Dragon!Erik, Everybody is a Planet, Gen, Hamsters, Jailbait!Charles, M/M, Sacrificial Not-Maiden!Charles, Sith!Erik, Star Wars AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groovyphilia/pseuds/groovyphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets, previously posted only on Tumblr. Involves dragons, demons, Jedi, hamsters, and other unfortunate ideas. </p><p>Some might be expanded or continued, but probably not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Erik is a Dragon and Charles is a Sacrificial Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, 'Concerning Dragons'.
> 
> Charles is a sacrificial virgin, and unhappy about it. The Mighty Dragon Magneto is of the opinion that they don’t make sacrificial maidens like they used to.

“Now see here,” said Charles sternly, “you can’t just hoard all this gold and…assorted valuables all to yourself.”

The Mighty (and Intelligent, and Magnificent, and Virile, depending on the occasion) Dragon Magneto cracked open a massive eye. It peered at Charles from atop its considerable mound of treasure. To Charles’ surprise, it seemed mildly perplexed, as though his words had been so plainly contrary to fact that it didn’t know what to make of him.

Charles had to admit it had a point. Evidence that the dragon could hoard exactly what he wanted was right before them, after all.

He took a deep breath, and determinedly constructed a flimsy veneer of resolve. “Being a reasonable and intelligent man – er, dragon, I’m sure you could find in yourself a little sympathy. Some of these are family heirlooms, you know, and the people would be delighted to have them returned.”

A thin ring of smoke puffed gently in Charles’ direction, sending him into a violent coughing fit. The dragon stretched its ship-sail wings with a groaning creak, refolded them against its back, and burrowed contently into its loot.

A bejewelled chamber pot toppled off the pile and landed at Charles’ feet with an embarrassed clatter.

“Look,” Charles wheezed, as the dragon batted idly at a gilded clock pendulum, “you’re not being very polite. The least you could do before eating someone is listen to what they have to say, and – “

That, it seemed, finally got the dragon’s attention. It paused, one lethal claw raised in the air, and swivelled its serpentine head in Charles’ direction. Suddenly, scolding it seemed like an endeavour that should be reconsidered.

Its head dipped in one sinuous move, surveying him from one angle, and then another. It nudged his stomach gently with its snout. At one point, it raised a curved talon, and gave Charles an unexpectedly gentle poke, unfortunately directed at his rear. Charles yelped, hopping forward, and thankfully managed to refrain from smacking the dragon on the threateningly smoky nose.

A nose that was, to Charles’ astonishment, getting smaller.

The shrinking dragon settled back in its pile of gold, wriggling itself a comfortable dent. Bones crunched and grinded unpleasantly. Powerful hind legs twisted and lengthened in proportion, the scales absorbing smoothly into pinkish skin. Pupils widened from slits. They still looked unimpressed.

Charles watched as the gargantuan reptile compressed itself into something decidedly human-shaped, and very naked.

“They don’t make sacrificial maidens the way they used to, do they?” remarked the not-dragon, looking rather put out. It – he – had a rough, gravelly voice that surprisingly evoked grumpy pre-coffee mornings more than the screams of the thermochemically decomposing.

“I do believe,” Charles answered, oddly offended, “that the exact wording on your contract with the council was a sacrificial _virgin_.”

The not-dragon stared. Charles had the propriety to flush.

“I assumed,” said the not-dragon slowly, “that the implied terms of the contract would be evident.”

“Nothing about being a virgin implies being a maiden,” argued Charles, who was trying to ignore the display of lean, muscled body. “And why should it make a difference?”

“They taste better.”

“ _Excuse_   _me_.”

“No need for that tone. It’s scientific fact.”

“I don’t think it’s any kind of fact at all,” Charles argued, with a twinge of annoyance. Falsified claims in the name of science had always been his pet peeve. “And it’s plain rude, really. I’m certain I’d be just as delicious as any fair maiden.”

“I’ll have to admit,” the not-dragon said, flicking his gaze appraisingly along Charles’ form, “that you do look quite delicious, at that.”

It chose this moment to stretch languidly on its golden throne. Charles kept his gaze resolutely forward.


	2. The One Where Charles is a Demon and Erik's in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Or, 'Demons on Fuller Planes'.)
> 
> The Seventh Level of Hell is, apparently, out of space, but Erik doesn’t intend to be booted down to Level Eight without a fight. Even if it’s a verbal fight with the strangely attractive Level Seven overseer.
> 
> From the [silly acronym prompt list](http://groovyphilia.tumblr.com/post/44177303723/fic-prompts-for-all)!

“I’m so very sorry,” the demon was saying, if that was what he was. “But we really are short on vacancies. You can try the Eighth Circle; they certainly had some spare room the last century or so.”

“I don’t  _want_  to go to the Eighth Circle,” Erik snarled. “Seventh is bad enough.” 

It was. Beyond the gate, crowds of people slumped moodily along a boiling river of fire and blood. Erik hated crowds.

“It’s really not so bad, you know,” the demon was saying. “They did away with the whipping about a millennia ago - too many, er, friendly fire accidents and complaints of shoulder aches, I think. It was universally ruled that the smell of the boiling pitch was punishment enough. Oh, and don’t listen to what they say about the snakes; the little things are actually quite friendly.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Erik asked rudely. “You don’t look much like a demon.”

The demon bristled, affronted. “My name is Charles, and I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly respectable Infernal servant. Mortal depictions of our typical visage are greatly exaggerated.”

“I met someone at the gate - Azazel. He looked and sounded the part.”

“Well, yes, but that’s Azazel,” Charles said patiently, which explained nothing at all. Erik hadn’t strictly believed in Hell, but even if he had, he would never have expected it to be so irritatingly bureaucratic. It was almost as bad as the mortal realm. 

”I have no intention of moving to the Eighth Circle,” Erik said stubbornly, shifting to a firmer stance. “I have been assigned to the Seventh Circle, and you had bloody well make some room, or bump me up as compensation.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the authority for that,” Charles answered, frowning at his record book. “I’m rather new to this, you see, I had a very different job prior to this overseer business.”

“You’ve mistaken me for somebody who cares.”

“You’re being awfully difficult, you know. I suppose I could put in a special request for a Purgatory placement, so long as you present yourself well for the interviews.”

This was an improvement. “And when can I expect these ‘interviews’?”

“Oh, anywhere between the next eight to nine hundred years.”  

A dangerous hush fell over the masses beyond the gate. Several of the damned began to edge surreptitiously away from the entrance. Even the boiling river seemed to burble less aggressively.

Charles stood before him, staring up with wide blue eyes. He looked distinctly un-demonic. 

“There is another option,” the demon said, flipping through his record book very quickly. He ran his finger along several lines of the Appendix, squinting at the fine print. “It’s very unusual, but I think you just might be eligible. Oh, yes, I think you might just fit the bill.”

“What?”

“For a job placement, I mean.”

“A job?” Erik repeated, the rage slowly easing from his tensed muscles. “…in the Circles of Hell?”

“No, in Paradise,” Charles said dryly. “Of course in  _Hell_ , you ridiculous man. Your temperament might appeal to my superior. He’s always said I needed a colleague to, er, complement my natural disposition - I do believe the  _modern mortal_  - “ he looked very proud as he said this, ” - term would be  _‘good cop, bad cop’_  - “

“Fine,” Erik said, reluctantly appeased. “So long as you do it quick. You talk too much, by the way.”

“So I’ve heard,” Charles agreed good-naturedly. He fumbled in his pockets, fishing out a iPhone with every appearance of delight - Apple products were something Hell had enthusiastically embraced - and gave it a few purposeful prods. “Fortunately, we’re rather short on applicants - there’s a vicious rivalry for these positions, you know, and many find different priorities on the way. I think I can arrange a meeting for you on the ninth hour of the morrow.”

“See that you do.” Erik looked beyond the gate, where the damned were eyeing him warily. Some gave him hopeful smiles. To their horror, Erik smiled back. “This should be entertaining, at least.”

“I don’t know about that,” Charles remarked, pocketing his iPhone. “I honestly prefer my old line of work. Much more…ah…satisfying.”

“You keep saying you worked elsewhere,” Erik remarked, taking a seat on a charred rock. “Not that I’m interested, but you might as well tell me what it was.”

Charles, to his surprise, blushed, and turned his otherworldly eyes to the burbling lake. He cleared his throat.

“I believe you’d call me an _incubus_.” 


	3. The One Where Erik is a Sith and Charles is his Apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Or, 'Accidental Investments'.)
> 
> The Sacking of Coruscant was great fun for the Sith, and by extension, Erik - until a wayward Jedi youngling started dribbling snot on his clothes. This was going to be a Problem.
> 
> (One of many Star Wars AUs to come.)
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings for: casual off-screen murder of Jedi kiddies and future age difference. (age 18 and 34)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [this dreadful slime](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea/pseuds/Pangea).

There was a lot of business about strength and passion in being a Sith, but what most people didn’t realise was that striking fear into the hearts of many required  _presentation_.

He Swept Imperiously through the crumbling halls of the Jedi Temple, and paused before a set of wide double doors. There were people coming this way, he could tell - their fear seeped through the minute spaces in the walls, like the stench from a public toilet in Hutta.

When the Empire ruled the galaxy, no Sith would ever suffer the indignity of a public bathroom ever again.

Erik smoothed down his hair, and cleared his throat. He drew his hood up and positioned himself before the closed double doors, and then as an afterthought, threw open a few strategically placed windows so that his cloak could billow dramatically in the breeze. It would also give everybody an impressive view of the burning city, as well as a background soundtrack of dying screams. 

This was very pleasing. Erik took his position again, lowered his head, and waited.

The doors flung open. Only two Jedi, Erik noted with interest, and…nearly a dozen younglings, who were already starting to whimper and panic.

He lifted his head slowly, and then raised his hands and lowered his hood, letting his eyes catch the firelight for maximum effect. Some of the younglings started to cry. The Jedi were both trembling as they clutched their lightsabers.

 _Nailed it_ , Erik thought smugly.

His lightsaber flared red. Time for pest control.

***

It did not go as well as he expected.

True, the Jedi and their unnerving Jedi-spawn were now in an unmoving heap on the Temple floor, but he had actually gotten a spot of blood on his clothes. With the fabric being black, it didn’t exactly show, but Erik knew it was there. It bothered him.

He made a mental note to take it to the cleaners, and attempted to sweep out of the hall. His cloak pulled him back. He gave it an irritable tug, and started once again for the door. Something heavy dragged along at the hem.

It was probably one of the Jedi, determined to choke out ominous words with his dying breath, or something similar. Erik turned, fully prepared to give the fellow a good kick into the next plane of existence, and was immediately met with…a thing.

It was small. It looked soft. It had fluffy brown hair and  _enormous_  blue eyes. It was also, to his horror, getting snot on his cloak.

Evidently, he had missed out one of the younglings, and a rather stupid one at that - this one was strangely adept at hiding its presence, and would most likely have escaped alive if it had hidden away. No matter. Erik withdraw his lightsaber once again, and prepared to finish the deed.

The youngling sniffled, and buried its face in his cloak. 

“Stop that,” Erik said in annoyance, lowering his weapon. The youngling responded with a louder sniff, and curled itself into a ball of baby Jedi. It continued to sniffle, curl up and roll, apparently determined to wrap itself in Erik’s cloak as a protective cocoon. 

Erik was quickly becoming in danger of being throttled by his own clothes. With a swift movement, he detached the cloak from its clasps, and let the fabric fall to the floor, where it was quickly subsumed into the shivering youngling-and-cloak symbiote. 

Erik stared at the tiny Problem on the floor, and silently calculated his losses. His cloak was still salvageable. If he involved it in a tussle or cut through it to dispose of the youngling, however, it most certainly would be left in a hopeless condition. On the other hand, if he refused, he would either have to leave his cloak here - just as bad as destroying it - or simply take the youngling with it until it detached. Or just…taking the youngling with him, really.

He  _was_  embarrassingly lacking in an apprentice, though admittedly that wasn’t much of a sin at the young age of twenty-two. Still, that _was_  his favourite cloak.

“Well, well,” he murmured, gathering the squirming mass into his arms. It squeaked, and burrowed against his chest. “Welcome to the Sith Order.”

***

Much later, Erik Lehnsherr looked upon the obscenely red lips of his eighteen-year-old apprentice, and thought: ‘ _Shit_ ’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is [something like a sequel](http://pangeasplits.tumblr.com/post/45251530101/erik-enjoys-watches-vaguely-penis-shaped-food-go-into) here! By Pan and not me, that is.


	4. The One Where They're Hamsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Raven’s hamsters has been exhibiting odd behaviour lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a comment by [Kat](http://fightingfortheusers.tumblr.com/)!

“Do you taunt him like this every day?” Hank asked dubiously, as the Charles-the-hamster teetered unsteadily on its hind legs. 

Raven waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t do this for  _all_  his meals, god. It’s just a game we play from time to time.” 

She continued to dangle the strawberry over Charles’ head. The hamster stretched valiantly towards the fruit, and promptly fell on its back with a squeak.

“He’s cute,” Hank admitted, as Raven nudged Charles’ belly with the strawberry. “A pudding dwarf, right?”

“That’s right.” The strawberry was snatched from Raven’s grasp. “He’s way friendlier than his cage mate, though. It’s weird - I googled the breeds, and their temperaments should be the other way around.”

“Cage mate?” Hank looked away from the voracious nibbling, and scanned the sawdust floor. “I don’t see any others.”

Raven pointed wordlessly at a strange, helmet-shaped plastic shelter. It was then Hank noticed a mass of sleek black fur lurking in the shadows, watching him with suspicious eyes. 

“A black Syrian,” Raven informed him. “His name is Erik.”

“I see,” said Hank, privately thinking it looked more like the hamster version of a hellhound. He bravely wiggled his finger near the helmet-shelter, and quickly withdrew it when Erik bared his teeth.  ”They don’t fight?”

This gave Raven pause. “Well…not exactly,” she said thoughtfully. “They’ve never attacked one another, that’s for sure. For awhile I thought Erik was stealing Charles’ food when I wasn’t looking, though - Charles starts looking weirdly skinny if I don’t feed him by hand. I’d been feeding him fruit every day for the past week to try and pudge him up.”

Hank frowned. “Perhaps the larger hamster doesn’t need to fight? It’s entirely possible it’s staked some kind of claim over the food, and Charles is too intimidated to approach the dish.”

“That isn’t it. Believe me, Charles is pigging out like he always does,” Raven said dryly. “Watch.”

Hank watched. Charles, it seemed, was consuming the entirety of his strawberry with great enjoyment, an impressive feat considering it was nearly as large as he was. Nothing seemed amiss - at least, not until Charles paused in mid-bite, lowering his meal to look guiltily at his cage mate, who was now snoozing lightly in the helmet.

Charles carefully set aside the remainder of the fruit, and pattered his way to the hamster wheel. To Hank’s astonishment, he started a determined run.

“What,” said Hank, “on Earth.”

“I know,” Raven sighed. “I don’t get it at all. If he weren’t, well, a  _hamster_ , I’d say he was trying to look _fit._  Like Erik, I guess.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Hank remarked. “And futile. Dwarfs aren’t built to look like Syrians.”

To Hank’s surprise, the blur of the hamster’s feet slowed to a stop. Charles hopped off his wheel, looking up at Hank with what almost seemed like stricken dismay.

Hank and Raven stared. “I think he heard you,” Raven whispered.

“Nonsense,” said Hank nervously, as Charles huddled into an unhappy ball of fluff. “He’s just a hamster.”

“Whatever,” Raven said, disgruntled. “You’ve upset him. I’ll get another strawberry.”

She turned huffily away, heading for the kitchen, and left Hank alone with a miserable Charles - and more unnervingly, Erik, who was once again awake and watching Hank beadily. 

“It’s all right, you know,” Hank murmured to Charles, feeling distinctly silly. “Being…well, adorable and round, I mean. It’s a very popular look, actually, most people feel that a rounder dwarf hamster is _better_. And I’m sure Erik likes you the way you are.”

Charles peeked up at Hank with an peculiarly intelligent eye. Almost as though he were about to respond, Hank thought, except Erik chose that moment to amble along to the other hamster’s side. 

Hank tensed, preparing to break up a fight. Erik, however, merely nudged Charles’ pudgy side, before flopping smugly over his curled body, apparently content to use him as a squashy pillow.

Charles squeaked in surprise. Hank blinked.

“Told you,” he said, as Erik yawned. 

For a hamster, Charles was rather good at looking abashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pudding Dwarf:**
> 
> **Black Syrian:**
> 
> Basically.


	5. The One Where Charles is the Brotherhood Bicycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Or, 'The Brotherhood of the Travelling D'.)
> 
> What the Brotherhood needs, they had decided, was a Travelling D. A willing community bicycle to service the needs of all and keep spirits up. Erik didn’t know what he had expected for an applicant, but it probably wasn’t Charles Xavier.

It was supposed to be a morale-booster.

Naturally, Raven had been the one to think of it. “What we need,” she had said, “is a Brotherhood bicycle.”

“A what,” said Erik.

“Everybody gets a ride. You know, like a Travelling D, to keep us happy on long missions.”

This proclamation had been met with a flurry of side-eyeing, and discreet shuffles away from the centre of the group.

“I volunteer to be the Travelling D,” said Azazel.

“Your idea is admirably creative, but ridiculous,” Erik snapped at Raven. “Nobody would possibly want to take up the position of the…’ _Travelling D’_.”

“I’m very good at travelling,” said Azazel. “It’s actually my speciality.”

“As a matter of fact, we do have someone,” Raven countered. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if we didn’t. My brother would be happy to oblige.”

“I would also be happy to oblige,” said Azazel.

Erik looked at Raven doubtfully. “And you didn’t threaten him in any way? I won’t tolerate this kind of business in the Brotherhood.”

“I even have an extra appendage,” said Azazel. “It fulfils various uses.”

“Of course I didn’t threaten him,” said Raven, glaring at Erik in disgust. “It was his idea, actually. He’s like that. You don’t know my brother.”

“I don’t need to be threatened,” said Azazel, “though I could, if anyone likes.”

“Fine,” said Erik irritably. “Bring him in and we’ll have a look. I suppose it can’t hurt to try.”

Azazel’s tail drooped sulkily.

 

***

Erik arrived in the common room the next day to a murmuring circle of his minions. (They did not like to be called minions, but they were minions. Obviously.) 

“Greetings,” he said, and was promptly ignored. With a frown of annoyance, he squeezed past the outer ring of the crowd and craned his neck. Whatever was in the centre wasn’t very big; he could just make out a tuft of fluffy brown hair behind Angel’s head.

Erik fixed his control over numerous belts and watches, and hauled the Brotherhood members to the side, clearing a path. Before him stood a rather short young man with blue eyes and a very red mouth. The mouth beamed at him.

“Hello,” said the intruder, “I’m Charles. I believe my sister Raven referred me to you for the position of ‘Travelling D’.”

“Er,” said Erik.

“I assure you I am more than adequate for the job. I am completely at everyone’s disposal for a variety of sexual services, and in addition to this, I am able to converse in various languages, have extensive knowledge over various fields of the arts and sciences, skilled in the playing of fifty-seven different board and card games, experienced in cocktail mixing, have sufficient acting ability to roleplay various scenarios, and am able to play several musical instruments to soothe one’s ruffled nerves.” A pause. “I also have no gag reflex.”

“Oh,” said Erik. “Well.”

 ”I like him,” offered Janos. There were general murmurs of agreement. 

Charles smiled at them all with those red, red lips, and Erik was suddenly certain that refusing would mean a mutiny on his hands.

“Fine,” he growled. “You’re hired. I’ll draw up some contracts and have your roster up outside my office tomorrow.”

There were actual cheers. Erik wondered when his life became this way.

***

Charles looked upsettingly good in a maid costume. That is what Erik discovered when he went down into the kitchen for a midnight snack.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Charles, his arms full of tubs of whipped cream. Erik decided not to ask. “Don’t mind me, I was just on my way - or would you like me to make you a cup of tea, first?”

“Er,” said Erik, trying to decide where to direct his eyes. Charles’ face seemed the safest bet, but even that was deadly in its own way. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure you don’t want to keep…whoever…”

“Azazel.”

 _“Azazel_  waiting.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he can be patient for a few minutes,” Charles said genially, settling the whipped cream on the counter. A tub toppled to the floor. Charles bent to pick it up, and Erik nearly choked. That skirt was very short.

“What kind of tea would you like?” an oblivious Charles asked, smiling brightly.

“Tea,” said Erik, struggling to remember how to speak English, “That is - Darjeeling, please.”

“Darjeeling it is,” Charles agreed, reaching for the top shelf. His dress hiked up, exposing a lacy black garter, contrasting against his creamy white thighs. 

Erik felt slightly faint, possibly because the blood in his head was rapidly migrating elsewhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a porn continuation by iteribidem [here](http://ceilingcharles.tumblr.com/post/43079763972/brotherhood-of-the-travelling-d-continuation), if you please.


	6. The One Where Erik Pretends to Be a Prince to Woo Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aladdin AU. Erik is an alleged street rat who encounters a magic lamp, and is currently parading around as the cocky and annoying Prince Magnus of Genosha. All in the name of wooing Prince Charles.

“I think,” Charles said firmly, “you should leave. I might be making some allowances for the fact that you’re  _clearly deranged_ , but the guards won’t be so kind.”

Prince Magnus, to his credit, could put on a very convincing expression of disappointment. Though the slight pout might have been overdoing it.

“If you insist,” he sighed, climbing onto the balcony railing.

He turned, raising an eyebrow.

Charles had just enough time to open his mouth before the prince leaped off the balcony into a seven-story fall.

Blind panic was the first thing to flood his senses. Charles found himself crying out, stumbling towards the railing, reaching out futilely for Magnus’ hand when he knew it would be too late - the prince had seemed arrogant, that was for certain, and his fashion sense was showy to a fault, but surely he wouldn’t extend his dramatics to a death-defying leap? _(Death-inducing, more like.)_

If so, he was even more foolish than Charles’ thought - an impressive show wasn’t very useful if one was too deceased to enjoy the results.

It was the lack of a distant  _‘thud’_  that made Charles pause. Or perhaps he had been expecting a ‘ _splat’_. Charles was not well-versed in the sound bodies of stupid princes made when they hit the ground, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t a soft  _‘clang’_  several feet below the railing.

“Prince Magnus?” he called tentatively.

“Yes?” The man immediately responded, peeking up over the top of the railing.

“What - ” Charles’ voice immediately failed him, as the prince rose steadily above the balcony, a shining sheet of metal under his feet. It rippled sinuously as it hovered in mid-air - utterly  _impossible_. Astounding.  _Beautiful._

The prince leaned over, reaching out his hand in one smooth motion.

“Would you like a ride on my magic carpet?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I might turn this into a real fic someday! Maybe.)


End file.
